


Lift Your Witcher

by TiniestGoblin



Series: Buffskier [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bathing/Washing, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Frottage, Geralt can't stop thinking about how strong Jaskier is, Kissing, M/M, Not Beta Read, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Jaskier | Dandelion, Tenderness, and i don't blame him, generous use of italics, like a lot, no beta we die like men, once again Roach is in possession of the braincell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:46:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25686787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiniestGoblin/pseuds/TiniestGoblin
Summary: Geralt can’t stop thinking about how easily Jaskier can lift him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Buffskier [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1864711
Comments: 11
Kudos: 279





	Lift Your Witcher

**Author's Note:**

> A sequel to Toss A Witcher because I COULDN’T HELP MYSELF.

Geralt hasn’t been able to stop thinking about it. How easily Jaskier had been able to lift him, the hidden strength in those arms wrapped so securely around his torso. He was used to tussling with his brothers over the winters in Kaer Morhen, but he was unaccustomed to being, for a lack of a better word, _manhandled_. Thinking about it made something hot twist in Geralt’s chest and the distraction was becoming unbearable. 

“-but of course, I declined because what kind of _maniac_ would accept something like that? Am I right Geralt?” Oh right. Fuck. Jaskier had been talking. Geralt hummed noncommittally in the hope that Jaskier wouldn't notice he hadn’t been paying attention. Jaskier sighs dramatically, flattening his hand against his chest. “Darling, you always know exactly what to say!” He grins up at Geralt. The teasing glint in his eyes says he absolutely knew Geralt hadn’t listened to a single word that came of his mouth. Nothing new there at least, Geralt often found himself tuning out Jaskier’s rambling in favour of doing most anything else.

“We’re nearly there.” Geralt says, swiftly changing the subject as his ears pick up the sounds of a village in the distance. Jaskier perks up at that, fingers tapping excitedly against his lute.

“Thank Melitele! A real bed, maybe an audience to sing for, and if the gods be willing a _bath_. How does that sound old girl?” He addresses the last part to Roach, patting her flank fondly. She turns her head towards him slightly, snorting agreeably. Geralt’s mouth twitches, and he absently pats her neck.

“Sounds good.” Jaskier returns to his lute, experimenting with the lines of his latest composition for the remainder of their walk.

****

The inn had a single room left available, and by some miracle it had a tub they could use later to bathe in. Geralt stabled Roach while Jaskier negotiated their dinners in exchange for Jaskier to perform. He was thrilled to be able to play for a full tavern, and Geralt was silently relieved that none of the village folk seemed outwardly hostile towards him, though he could sense the discomfort of a few.

“I’ll ask for them to bring the water up now.” Jaskier says after they reach their room, unloading most of their belongings for the evening. “You can just heat it up when we’re ready, after dinner and my performance.” He winks at Geralt, grinning unrepentantly. Geralt thinks that perhaps he should be concerned about inappropriate uses for Igni, but instead he just gestures to the door.

“Dinner now then?” he asks. Jaskier grabs his lute and nods.

“And a show!” he quips, spinning with a flourish as he exits the room and prances down the stairs towards the full tavern. Geralt tries not to let his gaze linger for too long on the span of his shoulders.

****

Jaskier begins his set with a few simple crowd-pleasing songs, popular enough that most of the folks in the tavern will know them and sing along. The crowd tonight is easy; singing or tapping along as Jaskier flits about the room, twirling and flirting with any patron that makes eye contact. Three songs in he rolls up his sleeves. 

Geralt swallows hard, the room suddenly feeling a lot warmer. Perhaps he should’ve removed his armor when he had the chance. The more Jaskier dances around, the harder it is for Geralt to keep himself from staring. His gaze lingers on the firm line of the bard’s shoulders as he dips and spins, on the way his sleeves tighten around his arms when he waves and gestures, the shape of his forearms as he plucks at the lute strings. Geralt shifts in his seat, skin prickling with uncomfortable heat. It was going to be a long evening.

Halfway through Jaskier takes a break to eat, plopping down next to Geralt to devour his dinner. His eyes are shining, cheeks pink with exertion, sweat curling his hair against the nape of his neck. Geralt’s mouth goes dry at the sight, hit with a sudden urge to lick the bead of sweat he sees rolling down the bard’s neck. He forces his gaze back to Jaskier’s face.

“So, how am I doing?” Jaskier chirps, taking a few gulps of his water. Geralt takes a small sip of his own ale, previously sitting untouched, just to give himself more time to get his mouth in working order again.

“Good.” He finally manages to grunt and Jaskier _glows_ , flushing with pride at the rare praise from the Witcher.

“And I’m only warming up, just you wait!” he grins and hops back up, bowing grandly to the cheers he is greeted with.

As the evening progresses the songs become bawdier and the patrons rowdier. At one point, Geralt fears the inn may collapse around them, the building nearly shaking from the crowd’s enthusiastic stomping along to Jaskier’s particularly salacious performance of Fishmonger’s Daughter.

Jaskier is in his element, grinning recklessly as he performs, sending increasingly flirtatious winks in Geralt’s direction as often as he can. Geralt is mentally reciting potion recipes in an effort to resist the way his eyes are drawn to the obscene way Jaskier is biting his lip. It doesn’t work.

****

Finally, _finally_ , the night winds down as the villagers stumble drunkenly back to their homes and the guests back to their rooms.

Jaskier finishes his final song with a bow. His gaze seeks out Geralt’s, jerking his head towards the stairs when their eyes meet. Geralt nods once and stands. As he trails after Jaskier he notices how the bard’s doublet is clinging to his shoulders, damp with sweat. He wonders if he can get away with dunking himself in the cold bathwater before heating it without Jaskier noticing. Geralt steps into their room, barely closing the door behind him when Jaskier starts cursing.

“Melitele’s _fucking_ tits Geralt,” he swears, “You’re trying to kill me.” He whirls to face Geralt, eyes wild and chewing distractedly on his lip. Geralt stands frozen at the door, blinking at him. Jaskier sets his lute aside and crowds Geralt against the door, hands tightly gripping the leather straps on the front of Geralt’s armor. “Sitting in that damn corner,” he hisses, inches from Geralt’s face, “Giving me fucking _bedroom eyes_ all night.” Geralt inhales sharply at that, suddenly overwhelmed by the dizzying scent of Jaskier’s arousal.

“What?” He finally manages to rasp. Jaskier curses again.

“Melitele _save me_ from idiot Witchers.” And then he’s yanking Geralt down, desperately slanting their mouths together. Geralt freezes up for all of two seconds before he’s melting into the kiss, eyes sliding closed, hands fitting around Jaskier’s hips to pull him closer. His lips part easily to Jaskier’s insistent tongue, swallowing a moan as the bard licks into his mouth. It’s hot and wet and perfect, and Geralt is drowning in it. Liquid heat pools in his belly, the slick noises of their mouths meeting only intensifies the feeling. Jaskier breaks the kiss to nip at Geralt’s lips, and on his next breath Geralt’s head is swimming with the heady scent of their arousal thick in the air. He growls lowly and Jaskier bites harder, sinking his teeth into Geralt’s lower lip. Geralt sucks in another breath, his hands sliding up to grip Jaskier’s upper arms. He can’t stop the groan that escapes when his fingers dig into the solid muscle he finds there. But Jaskier is clever, so, _so_ clever.

“ _Oh_ ,” he breathes, eyes widening in realization as he looks up at Geralt. “ _That’s_ what this is about.” Something hot in Geralt’s chest tightens at the look on Jaskier’s face, dark and hungry, his dilated pupils surrounded only by a thin ring of blue. Jaskier dips forward, dragging his hands down the back of Geralt’s thighs and lifts him easily, pushing him none too gently against the door.

Geralt _whines,_ unable to stop the noise from clawing its way out of his throat.

“Fuck, Geralt,” Jaskier groans, slotting their hips together. Geralt bucks involuntarily, chasing the delicious friction. Jaskier gasps at that, grinding his hardness against Geralt’s in a rhythm that sends bolts of pleasure racing up his spine. Geralt tangles his hands in Jaskier’s hair and drags him back into a messy kiss. Jaskier moans into the kiss with every thrust, gasping ‘ _yes_ ’ and ‘ _fuck_ ’ and ‘ _Geralt_ ’ into his mouth.

The sweet, blinding pressure builds, and Geralt’s toes curl in pleasure. He tears away from the kiss when it peaks, groaning out a hoarse “ _Jaskier_ ” as he spills, sensation cresting in a rush of hot, shivery bliss. Geralt shudders and groans while Jaskier continues to rock against him, babbling nonsense as he nears his own tipping point.

“Gods yes, so gorgeous Geralt-” he gasps, “Fuck, yes darling, yes o-oh… _oh-”_ Jaskier gasps his name a final time before stilling, pressing hard against Geralt as he shakes through his release.

After a few moments Jaskier gingerly sets Geralt back on his feet and winds faintly trembling arms around his middle, panting into Geralt’s neck. Geralt untangles one hand from the bard’s hair, wrapping an arm around his waist to hold him close. They stay like that for a short while, breaths slowing.

After a brief stretch of peace, Jaskier giggles. Geralt hums questioningly.

“We’re still wearing all of our clothes,” he buries his face in Geralt’s shoulder, “You’re still wearing your _armor_.” He giggles again.

“I suppose we really need that bath now.” Geralt rumbles with amusement. Jaskier only giggles harder.

“Oh, we definitely do.” He grins up at Geralt and pulls him down for a soft kiss. Geralt sinks into it, one hand cupping the bard’s jaw, thumb brushing gently over his cheekbone. He pulls back, resting his forehead against Jaskier’s.

“Bath.” he admonishes mildly.

“Okay, okay.” The bard relents, taking a step back to remove his clothes.

****

Undressing takes longer than it strictly should, wandering hands smoothing over newly exposed skin, kisses stolen between pieces of removed armor. Finally, they stand naked next to the tub, exchanging lazy, open-mouthed kisses. Jaskier’s arms are draped over the Witcher’s shoulders, and Geralt’s hands are curled around the bard’s hips. Geralt removes one hand to heat the water and dips his fingers in to test it. He nudges Jaskier towards the tub.

“Get in.” He mumbles against the bard’s mouth. Jaskier peels himself away, stepping into the tub and sighing loudly as he sinks into the decadently hot water. Geralt follows, relaxing into the heat next to him. Jaskier tilts his head and smiles indulgently at him.

“Pass me the soap darling, and I’ll wash your back.” Geralt reaches over the edge of tub for the soap, unobtrusively lavender scented, and hands it to Jaskier. He turns to allow the bard to scrub his back and tilts his head back to let Jaskier wash his hair, careful hands combing gently through damp silver hair. Geralt returns the favour afterwards, guiding Jaskier back to lay against his chest once he’s finished. Jaskier hums contentedly, tipping his chin up, eyes closed, asking for a kiss. Geralt obliges, kissing him softly, one finger tucked under his chin. Jaskier breaks the kiss and settles back down, head lolling on Geralt’s shoulder. Geralt eases back against the edge of the tub, idly tracing unknown patterns across Jaskier’s belly. They remain in the bath for a little while, dozing in the slowly cooling water.

“Jaskier.” Geralt murmurs eventually. Jaskier gives a sleepy hum. “We cannot sleep in the bath.” Jaskier pouts.

“Why not.” He mumbles.

“Because I will not listen to you complaining of pruney skin.” Jaskier grumbles peevishly at that. “Jaskier, get up and come to bed with me.” He groans pitifully into Geralt’s neck.

“Gods I’ve waited _ages_ to hear you say that.” He says, words muffled against Geralt’s skin. Geralt huffs a laugh into his hair.

“Then get up and do it.” He teases, nudging Jaskier gently. They climb out of the bath, briefly toweling off before collapsing into the bed. Jaskier lays mostly on top of Geralt, entangling their legs, throwing an arm across his chest, and tucking his head under Geralt’s chin. He heaves a sigh, all remaining tension leaving his body and he sinks into the sheets.

“G’night Geralt.” He mumbles against the Witcher’s chest, already falling asleep. Geralt wraps an arm around him, thumb stroking absently where it rests. He’s blissfully warm, and Geralt buries his nose in the bard’s hair. He smells like clean skin, satisfaction, and _Geralt_. He nearly purrs in satisfaction.

“Goodnight Jaskier.” He murmurs lowly and drifts off to the sound of Jaskier’s steady breathing.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Woooooooo hoo hoo -fans self- please enjoy my first smut ever folks. Don't ask me what Jaskier was talking about at the start, I know as much as Geralt does. This turned out SO MUCH more sappy that originally intended, but oh well. What can I say, I live for tenderness.
> 
> I may or may not have a specific list of Geraskier tropes that I have been itching to write, with Buffskier just being the first one I’ve checked off. Stay tuned.


End file.
